She kept to herself, working long shifts at The Coffee Bean. On her off time, she holed up in the upstairs apartment above the shop, avoiding everything and everyone.
Everyone else had gone back to their lives—busy with jobs, with families, with purpose. Brandi couldn’t help but feel the emptiness creeping in, the ache that came from being surrounded by people one minute and completely alone the next.
Glancing at the clock, she moved to the front door, flipped the sign toCLOSED, and locked it. For a moment, she stoodthere, staring through the glass at the empty sidewalk across the street.
Lampsing was unusually still for a Friday night.
A sigh escaped her lips. It had already been a weeks since the failed girl’s trip—since everything went sideways again.
Turning from the door, she limped toward the back of the shop, out of view of the windows. Her ankle still throbbed, and there was no way she’d make it up the stairs right then.
She dropped into a seat at a two-top tucked behind the staircase and opened her laptop. She had a class to catch up on—something she should do.
But what shewantedwas a deluxe meat pizza, a two-liter of root beer, and a black and white movie marathon. Arsenic and Old Lace. The Old Dark House. The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Or any other old black and white film.
Closing her laptop, she grabbed her phone and made the call. Pizza, soda, the works. Comfort in greasy cardboard and caffeine bubbles.
She hobbled back to the front of the store to wait. She heard the sound of a motorcycle. Her heart kicked up, chest tightening. She leaned forward, eyes locked on the door, waiting—hoping—for the rider to appear.
But her heart sank the second she saw the man step into view.Killer.Not Tool.
Of course it wasn’t Tool. He hadn’t come by. Hadn’t followed through on a single thing he’d said in the hospital. It shouldn’t surprise her—but it did. It still hurt. She unlocked the door and stepped aside to let Killer in.
“Hey, you,” he said with that easy grin of his.
“Killer,” she greeted, forcing a smile. “What brings you here?”
Her mind flashed with warning. The last thing she needed was Tool thinking one of his brothers was sniffing around. Butshe caught herself—Tool hadn’tclaimedher. Hell, he hadn’t even shown up. This was her business. Anyone could walk through those doors.
“I’m just checking on you,” Killer said.
“I’m fine. I ordered pizza and soda.” She smiled again, weaker this time. It was all she had in her tonight. She was tired—tired of hoping things would change, tired of waiting, tired of being alone.
“I’m gonna watch some old noir films,” she said, almost shyly. “If you’re interested in hanging out.”
Killer ran a hand over his shaved head, wincing a little. “I can’t. I’ve got a club thing.”
“Okay. Be safe.” She stepped back and pushed open the door, leaving it wide for him to walk through. She wasn’t begging anyone to stay.
“Maybe I’ll swing by later, catch the end of the marathon,” he said, leaning down to kiss her lightly on the head.
“I’ll probably pass out after devouring the pizza.”
“Call if you change your mind.”
Brandi gave him a small smile as he walked to his bike and rode off into the quiet night. Then she closed the door, locked it again, and leaned her forehead against the cool glass.
She didn’t need anyone. She just didn’t want to be alone anymore.
Chapter Thirty
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It took nearly six weeks for Brandi’s ankle to fully heal. When it finally did, she made up her mind: she was going to see Gypsy. He agreed to meet her at the Firehouse Grill for lunch.
Outside, the air was thick with heat and exhaust. A row of gleaming chrome bikes lined the curb and spilled across the street, their presence like a territorial claim. The distant rumble of engines came and went like rolling thunder. Looked like a busy day at The Firehouse.
Adjusting the strap of the duffel bag over her shoulder, she winced.
